


Heat of the Moment

by inoubliable



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Eddie Kaspbrak is a sexual deviant, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Oral Sex, Someone please help Stan Uris, i'm letting my wife tag and these are her suggestions:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-12 23:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14738189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inoubliable/pseuds/inoubliable
Summary: These are the facts: Richie Tozier talks a lot.Richie Tozier wears coke-bottle glasses, and his two front teeth are kind of fucked up.Richie Tozier can start fires with his mind.





	Heat of the Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Asia's [Heat of the Moment](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jw1BJ5vNVA0).
> 
> This is technically for the fyeahreddie 'heat' prompt, but as always, I'm way late.

These are the facts: Richie Tozier talks a lot.

Richie Tozier wears coke-bottle glasses, and his two front teeth are kind of fucked up.

Richie Tozier can start fires with his mind.

* * *

It starts during puberty, before his voice dips deep but after the first few dark whiskers sprout from his upper lip. One day, he’s a normal kid, just shy of seventh grade, knees knobby and permanently scraped, and the next, his Star Wars sheets smolder to ash against his bare skin.

That happens, sometimes: kids with powers. It’s not _common_ , exactly, but things are weird in Derry and everyone knows it. Six times the national average kind of weird. There was that shapeshifter back in the 50s who killed a couple dozen kids, and the prom queen in the 70s who destroyed half the town with her mind. Richie’s mom grew up with a girl who had long, red hair that shifted around her shoulders with a life of its own. Now, just down the street, Stan Uris can tell you what you’re thinking before you even open your mouth.

So Richie’s not a freak, exactly, but he lights up the living room curtains twice a month and the sprinkler system his parents have installed ruins three different television sets. He goes to school on a probationary basis. Nobody thinks twice about cool, collected Stan (mostly because he could hear it if they did), but Richie is watched like he’s seconds away from a meltdown at all times.

He learns to laugh it off. He learns to crack jokes, and put people at ease with his smart mouth and long fuse. He learns to control his temper. He learns how to be _normal_.

He gets so good at it that sometimes, he goes weeks without burning anything. Sometimes, he lasts for months before that fiery energy underneath his skin boils over. Sometimes, he forgets it's there at all.

Times like now.

He’s in Eddie’s room, snuck right in through the tiny window that is kept constantly unlocked just for him. He’s been doing this for years, has gotten so good at it that sometimes he does it in broad daylight, when anyone who cared enough to look could see him scale the side of the Kaspbrak residence. It’s night now, though, and Mrs. Kaspbrak is asleep in her chair downstairs, unaware that there are two boys tucked into her darling son’s childhood bed.

They’re kissing, which is something of a new development. There has been something building between them for years, something hot and dynamic, something even more uncontrollable and frightening than the constant fire burning underneath Richie’s fingertips. That something finally exploded into being the month before, when Eddie had made an exasperated noise in the back of his throat and hauled Richie in, mid-sentence.

“Sorry,” he had said after their lips had brushed together, a whisper of a kiss. “I can’t stop thinking about that.”

Richie had actually never, _ever_ thought about kissing Eddie before, because his self-control is impeccable and he’s gotten good at denying his desires, but he had looked at Eddie’s red mouth then and decided he suddenly wanted nothing more.

So now, instead of reading comics or listening to music in the late-night privacy of Eddie’s bedroom, the two of them spend their time wrapped up together, sharing slow, youth-clumsy kisses. Richie runs a lot hotter than most people, and sometimes they have to stop when Eddie starts to sweat, but tonight Eddie’s shirt is clinging to his slick skin and he still hasn’t pulled away. He’s sucking on Richie’s tongue and he has one hand teased underneath Richie’s shirt, fingertips splayed on the small of Richie’s back. His touch is electric. Richie has the fuzzy thought that maybe Eddie has a power, too, because that’s the only explanation for the static shock way Eddie’s touch makes the hair on his arms stand on end.

Eddie is beneath him, his legs spread apart so Richie can fit between them, their hips slotted together. Eddie is hard, and so is Richie, but they’re not really doing anything about it because they haven’t done _that_ yet. Richie is a seventeen year old boy and he knows what his dick is for, knows he could rub it just perfectly up against the cradle of Eddie’s hips, get himself off just like that, but he’s not entirely sure how Eddie would react, and he’s also not entirely sure he would last long at all. He doesn’t want to chance ending this, not when Eddie’s clutching at him like that, arching up to kiss him more firmly.

“You’re hot,” Eddie says against his mouth, a muffled breath of noise that almost doesn’t penetrate the heavy, horny buzz of Richie’s thoughts.

“Yeah, baby,” Richie says, half-distracted by the way Eddie’s hands grasp at him. “You are, too, you’re –” 

“No, Richie, you’re _hot_ ,” Eddie insists, and Richie realizes that tight grip isn’t clutching him closer but pushing him off.

He yanks away. The air between them is suddenly hazy, like when heat rises off blacktop on a smoldering summer day. He should be sweating, but any bit of moisture on his skin has long since hissed into steam. Eddie’s face is very red, and he’s prodding delicately at his lips. Richie hasn’t accidently burned someone in _years_.

“Shit, Eds, I’m sorry,” he says in a rush.

Eddie doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Richie has no idea what he’s thinking because he’s choosing not to look. He’s staring steadfastly at the crisp corner of Eddie’s hospital-white bedsheets. Richie’s sheets at home are flame-resistant, but Eddie’s are not. They look so fragile, bleach-white cotton that Richie could destroy too easily.

“Does that always happen?” Eddie finally asks.

Richie rubs a hand awkwardly over the back of his neck. “No,” he admits. “It’s never happened before.”

Eddie stares at him. When Richie works up enough courage to meet his eyes, he’s smiling. The tight ball of anxious heat building in Richie’s chest loosens all at once into a quiet smolder.

“So it’s just me?” Eddie asks. He looks intensely pleased by the idea.

Richie huffs. “No, it’s… I’ve never, uh. I’ve never done it before.”

He hears Eddie suck in a quiet breath. “You mean…?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, like he’s not acutely ashamed of that admission. “Who would want to fuck the Firestarter, you know?”

Eddie touches the side of Richie’s face then, gently turning him so that Richie is finally looking at him again, full-on. He looks soft and sweet, not at all pitying or amused, the way Richie sort of expects. “Richie,” he says, voice steady and very, very serious, “the _least_ interesting thing about you is that you start fires. If people can’t see past that, it’s their loss.”

Richie doesn’t have enough time to fully process how wonderfully those words bloom in his chest, because Eddie reaches for him, dragging Richie back into his space.

“And to answer your question, _I_ do,” he says, his voice now a whisper. His eyes are hotter than any fire Richie has ever set. “I want to fuck the Firestarter.”

Richie goes hot all over, a stinging prickle across his skin and under it. The temperature spikes, and there are little beads of sweat dotted across Eddie’s forehead, his upper lip. Richie wants nothing more than to kiss him, but he’s so scared Eddie might melt.

“We can’t,” he says, almost a whine. “Eddie, I’d hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t,” Eddie says back immediately, like he really thinks Richie can control himself. And he’s right, for the most part – Richie has pretty impeccable self-control, usually. Just not when it comes to this moment, right now, when Eddie is looking at him like _that_.

“I _would_ ,” Richie insists. “I can’t help it, Eds. You just get me hot.” And he waggles his eyebrows, trying to break the tension before he can do something really stupid.

Eddie groans and shoves at Richie’s shoulders without any real force. “I changed my mind,” he says. “Get off me, let me go.”

He doesn’t actually think Eddie wants him to, but he rolls off anyway for the sake of his own sanity. Eddie looks sort of surprised, then sort of disappointed, then sort of devious, all in the span of a couple of seconds. He climbs off the bed, standing to the side. Richie sits up, sort of helpless to do anything but follow, his legs folded over the edge of the mattress, feet against the floor.

Richie doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but he certainly doesn’t expect it when Eddie sinks to his knees, right between the spread of Richie’s legs.

His breathing stutters, and his brain sort of blanks. It’s a small miracle that he doesn’t light the place up by accident. It’s funny: Richie could burn the house down around them, could set the fucking world on fire, but somehow, kneeling there at Richie’s feet, little Eddie Kaspbrak has all the power.

“Eddie,” he says, and he doesn’t recognize his own voice, a quiet gasp of sound. “This is a really bad idea.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, but he reaches forward and starts to unbutton Richie’s jeans. His hands are shaking, which is the only real indication that he’s at all unsure about this. That small gesture makes Richie feel a little better, but not by much.

“Tell me if I should stop,” Eddie says, lowering the zipper.

“You should stop,” Richie murmurs. Eddie looks up at him, pausing with Richie’s jeans opened up under his hands. “Please don’t stop,” he adds, and Eddie’s smile is almost worth the inevitable carnage.

They work together to get Richie’s pants and underwear down his legs. They pool at his ankles, and he doesn’t bother to kick them fully off because Eddie is just _staring_ , his eyes a little wide and his mouth sort of open.

“You’re hard,” he says after a moment, like that’s the most surprising part of this entire scenario.

Richie kind of wants to laugh. “Got a cute boy on his knees with his mouth about four inches from my dick. Can you blame me?”

Eddie stares at his erection for another long moment. “Don’t burn me,” he finally says, and then leans forward to rub a closed-mouth kiss across the very tip.

Richie’s entire body jerks. “No promises,” he says through gritted teeth, and his hands automatically fall to Eddie’s head, lacing into his hair.

Eddie pulls back to level him with a very unimpressed look. “If you light my hair on fire, I’ll bite your dick off.”

The thought of Eddie’s sharp teeth sinking down into him should be enough to take the edge off the overwhelming desire burning in his gut, but it isn't. If anything, Richie is sort of thrilled by the challenge. He tightens his fingers in Eddie’s hair. Eddie looks pleased, lowering his mouth again. Richie wants to tell him just how good he looks, illuminated by soft lamplight, mouth and cheeks both very pink, sweating and gorgeous, but then Eddie is licking a curious line up his length and words fail him for maybe the first time ever. He makes a helpless little noise and Eddie looks up at him, his dark eyes huge and glimmering. Richie thinks he could come, just looking at Eddie then.

Eddie doesn’t move quickly, but he’s determined, sinking down slowly, as far as he can go. He stays there for a few long seconds, tightening his lips and then his throat. Richie can feel him swallow, and then he pushes down another inch and his whole body shakes when he gags. He pulls off, wipes his mouth, and then starts all over again, looking very focused.

“Shit,” Richie gasps, and he has to take his hands out of Eddie’s hair because he’s sure it’s going to end badly if he doesn’t. “Fuck, Eds, wait a second, slow _down_.”

Eddie glowers at him and slides his mouth almost all the way down again. He’s gripping Richie’s thighs to steady himself, and his nails slice into the skin when he takes too much at once. Eddie’s mouth is so hot and tight and good that Richie almost pushes his hips up into the contact, but he somehow manages to sit still, grabbing for one of Eddie’s pillows just for something to do with his hands.

In the end, it’s over very quickly. Richie would be embarrassed about that, except no one could possibly last, faced with Eddie’s red hot mouth and all-consuming enthusiasm. Eddie stops trying to deepthroat him after the first few tries and instead bobs his head over what he can manage, his hand fisting what he can’t. Richie starts making noise at some point, low-voiced _uh uh uh_ sounds that keep time with the up-down stroke of Eddie’s mouth, and at one point Eddie pulls off to shush him, but he’s grinning and he resumes his rhythm even more fervently, like it’s a challenge.

When Richie comes, the room gets very, very hot all at once. It’s sort of hard to breathe, but maybe that’s just because Eddie doesn’t stop immediately. He slows down, but his tongue still draws a lazy pattern on the underside of Richie’s dick. Richie closes his eyes, because he doesn’t have enough self-control to look at Eddie’s spit-shiny lips and also keep the fire inside.

Richie twitches when Eddie finally pulls off, but doesn’t look.

“Richie,” Eddie says.

Richie gives a noncommittal hum, his heart still thrumming hard.

“ _Richie._ "

Richie finally opens his eyes.

Eddie looks debauched, his hair sticking up at odd angles, his mouth very puffy. His pupils are dilated, and they’re dancing in the low light.

“Could you put that out?” he asks, and his voice is sort of ruined in a way that makes Richie stupid. He doesn’t even know what Eddie’s talking about until he looks pointedly at Richie’s hands, still gripped tightly into the pillow. It’s on fire.

“Oh, shit!” He throws the pillow onto the ground and jumps to his feet, almost tripping over the pants still pooled around his ankles. He manages to free himself and then uses the leg of his jeans to beat out the fire.

When he’s finished, he finds Eddie watching him, looking soft and amused and stupidly beautiful. Richie doesn’t have any other choice but to kiss him. Eddie tries to pull away, spouting some nonsense about how it’s _gross_. “Don’t you remember where my mouth has been?” he asks, as if Richie is ever gonna _forget_.

Richie kisses him anyway, and then kisses him again. They spend the rest of the night like that, trading slow kisses, falling back into bed together. It’s almost dawn when Eddie finally falls asleep, and Richie stares at his sweet sleeping face for a long time before he finally sneaks back out Eddie’s window. He’s done it probably a million times, but it’s definitely the first time he drops to the ground on steady feet, feeling lighter than air.

* * *

Eddie and Richie share the same homeroom, and most of the same classes, so the next day is… interesting. Most of the time, Richie expends almost all of his attention on not lighting the place up out of pure boredom, but now he has something much more interesting to focus on, like the way Eddie flushes red every time they make eye contact. It happens once, then twice, and then Eddie steadfastly refuses to look at him. Richie spends most of the morning trying to get his attention. He gets yelled at twice by two different teachers, but it’s worth it when Eddie tries to give him a disapproving look and instead goes a little hazy-eyed, like he’s thinking as hard about the night before as Richie is.

At lunch, they sit side-by-side, as always. Mike is on Richie’s other side, and Ben and Bill and Stan all sit across from them. Bev is perched at the head of the table. They’re all talking about… well, _something_. Richie’s not entirely sure what’s going on, because he’s watching Eddie peel open an orange and then suck the juice off his fingers. Eddie isn’t talking much, either, but that’s not _that_ unusual – certainly not as weird as Richie’s silence. Honestly, it’s a miracle none of their friends have mentioned it yet. Or maybe they have. Richie doesn’t have the first clue what anyone is saying, because Eddie is making these thoughtful little noises when he bites into a particularly good bit of fruit. It’s the same kind of full-mouth noise he made the night before, when he…

Stan suddenly slams his hand down on the table, hard enough to shake it. Richie startles out of his lewd thoughts long enough to realize that Stan looks supremely annoyed.

“ _Stop thinking_ ,” he says, his voice nearly a growl.

Richie grins slowly, not at all embarrassed. “Sorry,” he says. “Can’t help myself.”

Stan looks at him, his eyes narrowed. “Not _you_ ,” he says, sour and dismissive. “Do you really think I still listen to your thoughts? I blocked you out in eighth grade.” And then his gaze slides over to Eddie, who is suddenly refusing to look at him, pretending to be fascinated by the linoleum tabletop. Richie looks back and forth between the two of them for a long moment before he understands.

“Oh,” he breathes. “ _Oh._ ”

Eddie squirms in his seat. “Please don’t,” he whispers to the table.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, Eds?” Richie asks, voice sickly sweet.

Eddie opens his mouth, then closes it, then shakes his head fervently.

“I’m honestly disappointed in you, Eddie,” Stan says. “I thought you had _some_ taste.”

Richie wants to make a joke about exactly what Eddie was _tasting_ last night, but before he can, Stan makes an exasperated noise and stands up. He picks up his trash and, without another word, leaves the table. Bill and Bev and Mike and Ben all stare after him, confused. Richie puts his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, and though Eddie is very tense, he doesn’t shrug him off.

“If Stan knows, you all probably should,” he announces. Eddie goes even more rigid, his eyes sort of wild, like Richie is actually going to spill all his dirty secrets. “Eddie and I are dating now,” he says before Eddie can interrupt. Whatever Eddie had to say dies on his lips, leaving his mouth hanging open.

“We are?” he asks, sounding sort of small.

“We are,” Richie says, and leans in to smack a wet kiss to his temple. Eddie rubs it off, grumbling about germs, but he’s smiling.

None of their friends look all that surprised.

\--

And so, these are the facts: Richie Tozier talks a lot.

Richie Tozier wears coke-bottle glasses, and his front two teeth are kind of fucked up.

Richie Tozier can light fires with his mind.

And Richie Tozier is sort of, kind of, really into Eddie Kaspbrak.

**Author's Note:**

> My personal headcanon is that Stan can't really control whose thoughts he hears, but he worked really hard to block Richie out because sometimes Richie's thoughts were just the Wii menu music for 6 hours.
> 
> If you caught all the Stephen King references, you're my new best friend.  
> Please come talk to me on [tumblr](http://namingtheruins.tumblr.com), I need friends and inspiration.


End file.
